The Mystery of the Cornish Legend
by Boston Manor
Summary: Holmes and Watson are commissioned to find a missing person, but their investigations seem to uncover a link with a 1500-year-old legend - and they are not the only ones on the trail. Please R&R! NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**I think it's time for another story, but please be warned I'm going to have to fit this round things at home and work, and so it might be a while between Chapter uploads. That's assuming it's worth waiting for....**

Disclaimer: usual disclaimers apply, characters other than ACD's are my own invention.

**Chapter 1**

It was perhaps inevitable that as soon as the story of the disappearance of Lord Falconer's son had been made public knowledge, that Sherlock Holmes would become involved.

The bright May morning sunshine was streaming in through the bay window of the lounge of 221B Baker Street. Watson had recently returned from collecting the morning newspaper from the chirpy vendor stationed on the street corner. He had been reassured to see the story of Benjamin Falconer making the front page, and duly passed the document to Holmes on his arrival.

Matters had been quiet in Holmes' professional life. After a number of high profile cases, it now seemed as though the criminal underworld was is such awe of him that they had reformed, leaving him with little to occupy himself. This had happened before of course; and Watson knew exactly the antidote he needed to overcome the gloom which descended on the bachelors' flat. An interesting case.

"Well?" he said, after allowing a decent time for Holmes to read the article.

"As regards the Falconer case, it is simple. From what is reported, it is obvious that the lad has eloped with the Miss...." He referred to the article for the girl's name. "Miss Needham. I expect there will shortly be a report of their marriage at Gretna."

"Come, I don't think it can be as straightforward as that, surely, Holmes!" exclaimed Watson, somewhat disappointed that the hoped-for case was dissolving before his eyes. "What about the blood?"

"The blood, as you so enthusiastically refer to it, was nothing more than what would result from a small cut. There appears to be reference to the local constabulary finding a broken glass bottle in the driveway leading to the house. Perhaps the young man was getting a bit of 'Dutch courage' before asking the young lady to fall in with him, and in his excitement caused himself this small injury. We are not talking murder, Watson. Not with that amount of blood."

Watson was not to be deterred. "The lad was spending a lot of time on the cliffs, by the ruins of the castle. Two men were seen talking to him most animatedly the day before he disappeared. They, too, are now no-where to be found."

"Well," replied Holmes, "unless you can produce them as hostile witnesses I am very much afraid that all you have to support your case is the lad having a conversation with two other people about something of which we have no knowledge. People can get 'quite animated', Watson, about the most mundane of things." He heaved a sigh, and tossed the newspaper onto the table, where it slid straight across and ended up on the floor. Watson bent down to pick it up and return it to the table, and as he did so the distant ringing of the doorbell came to their ears.

Holmes straightened in his chair, and cast a mischievous smile at his friend. "Who knows, Watson, this could even now be Lord Falconer come to engage me to find his dear son."

They waited a few moments as the front door was opened. A hushed conversation was briefly held with Mrs Hudson, and then footsteps sounded as she and the visitor made their way up the stairs and to the door of the flat.

"Hmmm," mused Holmes. "Male, mid fifties, tall but over-weight, ex-services, limp in left leg." He stopped as if struck by what he had just said, and reached for the paper again. "Oh dear. Lord James Falconer, RN retired ...."

Mrs Hudson knocked the door, and Holmes, turning towards Watson with a look of mild resignation, replied "Come!"

Lord James Falconer entered the room as they stood, a towering presence both physically - he was if anything an inch on Holmes - and with an air of power and authority. Holmes and Watson nodded their greeting to him. "Welcome, Lord Falconer," enthused Holmes, "I have been expecting you."

The visitor was taken aback for a moment, and then smiled warmly. Holmes invited him to sit, and offered him a smoke, which he politely refused.

"I am sorry to call on you unannounced, Mr Holmes," he started, his voice mellow with a West Country accent. Holmes shook his head to relieve him of his concern. "I must admit for a moment I was a little surprised that you knew me and were expecting me, but nay, it's because of that greatness that I have come for your aid."

"Tell me of your son Benjamin, your Lordship. Everything."

"In truth there is not much to tell, Mr Holmes ...."

Holmes stood up. "Then good-day, sir!" he exclaimed. "You have come a long way to see me, and yet it is all to pay me off with stories and half-truth?"

"By no means, Mr Holmes!" replied the visitor. "Please, I will tell you what you wish to know, but really, what you read in the newspaper -" He looked at the crumpled organ on the table - "is not the half of it."

Holmes sat down again, and started his pipe. He closed his eyes, and invited his Lordship to continue.

"Our family seat, as you know, is Trethewan Court, a few miles outside of Tintagel, on the north Cornwall coast. It's a wild spot in winter, but come the summer, there's not a place in the whole of England better for the airs. We have good relations with all our neighbours, and recently Benjamin has been getting particularly involved with the son and daughter of Squire Needham, who lives at Needham Hall, perhaps half a mile away. They are a fine pair, like their father, who is an old Army man and who served in India until he was invalided out a decade ago. We get on well; we're both widowers, my wife died two years ago, and we go hunting and shooting together. We dine in each others houses perhaps twice a month.

"My son is absolutely fascinated by the area round about, and has researched the history of it most completely. It has been his regular habit to go over to the old ruins on the cliffs. He has been studying them for years – since his youth, and he is now six and twenty – and he has examined them in great depth. In fact to be frank, Mr Holmes, I dare say there is now not a person living in Cornwall who knows as much about the history of the area as does my son."

"Did the Needhams share his interest?" asked Holmes.

"Not really, Mr Holmes, although they would often accompany him on his visits," he replied. "More to make up some company than any particular interest, I think. They spent more time here at the house with him, poring over old books and maps, than out in the country air as I would have hoped for young people of their age."

"But something changed, yes?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes, it did. You see, about a week ago my son returned from is field travels much later than usual, after dark, and was in a high state of excitement. I told him I had been concerned, and asked him what was the matter, but he just dismissed my worries and said that I would understand in due course. Each day thereafter he would leave early, and get back late. And then, of course, two days ago he left as normal in the morning, alone, and hasn't been seen since."

Holmes winked at Watson. "And neither, I suspect, has the Needham girl?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Holmes, she is at her home, fully well."

Holmes was clearly taken aback. "Oh. It's just that ..."

"I know what has been surmised, and that by more than just you, Mr Holmes," replied Lord Falconer with a little colour in his cheeks. "I am disappointed that people who do not know my son jump to such conclusions." Holmes bowed his head in apology. "No, Mr Holmes, I have an idea what has happened, and you need to come to Cornwall to resolve this matter."

"Come to Cornwall?"

"And perhaps enter the history books."

Holmes leaned forward. "I cannot see how my finding your son will garner me any more fame than I already have."

Lord Falconer reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small black notebook. "My son's notes," he said, passing it to Holmes. "Look at the final page."

Holmes flicked through the well-worn pages until he came to the last entry. He stopped and stared at the page, his eyes opening in surprise and wonder. "Is it true? Is is possible?"

"I don't know, Mr Holmes, but I think that if you find the answer to that, you will find the answer to my son's disappearance as well."

Holmes passed the notebook to Watson, who looked at the last entry. He looked at Holmes, his mouth open at what he saw.

**At last, I have found it. The tomb. The tomb of King Arthur. **


	2. Chapter 2

Usual disclaimers apply, Holmes and Watson belong to ACD. Other characters and events are my own.

**Chapter 2**

Lord Falconer had returned to Cornwall within an hour of engaging Sherlock Holmes to investigate his son's disappearance. He had settled the initial expenses in advance, much to Watson's surprise, but such was his insistence that even without this generosity there was no question that Holmes would not take the case.

"Well, Watson, how quickly our lives can be turned upside down!" exclaimed Holmes as he drew deeply on his pipe. "It is a most intriguing account that His Lordship recounts, is it not?"

"Interesting, and very exciting, Holmes!" exclaimed his friend. "To think, the tomb of the great king of legend may have been found!"

"I will have to disabuse you of such romantic consideration, Watson," smiled Holmes. "If nothing else, such possibilities will do us no good by distracting us from the task in hand. However, in any event, I am afraid that the legendary King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table are likely to be no more than the figment of over-active imaginations, aided and abetted of course by the work of some of our great poets and writers."

"But even the most far-fetched legend usually has a basis in truth, Holmes."

Holmes was quiet for a moment. "Yes, that is true. However, the whole idea of wizards and dragons, Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake, Camelot and the quest for the Holy Grail is all too obviously fictional. At the very least, putting aside the impossibility of many of these elements of the story, the period of our history in which it is supposed to occur does not match what we know about those times."

"That's why they are called the Dark Ages!" laughed Watson. "But I can see I'm not going to convince you – not yet, at least! But we still have a missing lad to find – and the pay is likely to be handsome."

"You know as well as I that my work is its own reward," said Holmes. "But His Lordship was very insistent, was he not? Why do you think that could be?"

"He wanted only the best, and was prepared to pay accordingly so as to ensure your engagement."

Holmes smiled at his friend. "Very good. Yes, it is clear he wanted me on the case. He has come all the way from Cornwall – not an easy journey for a man of his age and disability – to lay this tantalising story before me. Others might have telegraphed."

"He wanted you to see he was genuine."

"Indeed. What did you make of him?"

"To my eye he seemed most eager to locate his son and to know he was safe."

Holmes pondered this, as if weighing up different possibilities. "Yes," he said finally, "I am sure that is it..."

"You seem uncertain."

"How is it that he had his son's notebook, if his son was so excited and thorough in his studies that he recorded everything he found?"

"Perhaps it was an old notebook? Young Benjamin could have taken a new one."

"But there were still empty pages left in it," replied Holmes with a wry smile. "But perhaps, as you say, he left it behind and had a new one with him. Perhaps he kept two notebooks simultaneously – it has been known. Or perhaps he did not need it that day."

"Meaning ...?"

"The two men he was seen talking to the day before he disappeared, Watson. If they are involved, and it is by no means certain that they are at this stage, it is possible that he did not want the notebook to fall into their hands if they met again."

"Do you suspect foul play, then?"

Holmes smiled. "We do not have the information to hand to make that judgement, Watson." He rose from his seat. "Now I have some thinking to do, and some telegrams to send, so I would ask you to avail yourself of the local park for a couple of hours – no, make it three – and upon your return there will doubtless be some other tasks with which we can busy ourselves before we leave on our travels."

"To Cornwall, then? His Lordship will be pleased. When you told him you would be unable to travel straight back with him, he looked as though his heart would break."

"Yes. But he knows that I would need to check some matters of fact with our colleagues in the Force here in London before we leave. It is important we are prepared. I instructed him of all the measures necessary upon his return to ensure that no evidence is lost." He paused for a moment. "Whilst you are out, I think it may be a good use of your spare time to acquire some tickets for us. I have heard that space is at a premium on the Atlantic Coast Express unless you book seats in advance." He looked at the five banknotes on the table before him, each promising to pay the bearer the sum of twenty pounds. "I think it would be possible to stretch to First Class," he concluded with a smile.

* * *

They were both used to travelling light when necessary, and so each was carrying only a small valise as they arrived at Paddington Station in the western suburbs of London, to board the late afternoon train to Bodmin. They quickly found their seats and settled themselves in for the long journey ahead of them, which would not be concluded until midnight.

Holmes had been pleased with the replies to the telegrams he had despatched earlier in the day, and had telegraphed ahead to Lord Falconer to announce that he expected to be with him the next morning. Two rooms at the Great Western Hotel in Bodmin had been booked by Watson - Holmes did not seem to want to put His Lordship to any inconvenience so late at night. And as Holmes had said, there would be precious little to see in the darkness. All he had done was to remind Falconer that the house and grounds should be kept free from interference until he arrived.

The journey, whilst long, was uneventful For the most part Holmes stared out of the window at the passing countryside as it gradually fell into darkness; meals came and went, and Watson managed to read most of the book he had brought with him. Holmes had not approved of his choice of material, of course, but Watson had insisted that there would be no better way to prepare for their task than to re-read his tattered copy of Mallory's classic fifteenth-century tale of _Le Morte d'Arthur - _given as a tenth birthday present by his mother, and a great favourite in his schooldays. At certain stages of the journey – as the train entered the 'west country' proper, for example, on leaving Bristol – he had regaled Holmes with points from the text and commentary, but nothing more had passed between the two of them since Taunton, where Holmes had threatened to throw the book out of the window if Watson had said another word. The last part of the journey had thus passed in silence, and in fact Watson was asleep when the train drew into Bodmin at a few minutes before midnight.

Holmes shook him gently, and the two of them duly made their way off the train. The porter directed them to their lodgings for the night, although the owner was none too pleased with being roused at such a late (or early) hour to let them in. It was gone one o'clock before they were settled in their beds, which after the long journey were surprisingly – at least to Holmes - comfortable.

* * *

The next morning saw them well fed and watered, and were enjoying a smoke in the Hotel's garden before setting off for Trethewan Court. The small stream at the bottom of the lawn was bubbling merrily and the birdsong was loud in the bushes. The influence of the west country air seemed to be having a wholesome effect on Holmes already, and he was quite relaxed and ready to discuss his thoughts with Watson when the sound of a four-wheeler was heard in the street outside. Within a few moments, none other than Lord Falconer himself met them at their seat as they rose to greet him in surprise. He was in a terrible state.

"Gentlemen, good morning!"

Holmes bade him sit with them, and to calm himself.

"I am sorry to greet you like this, I really am, but rather than let you spend another few hours getting to the house I've come to collect you myself. Such events, Mr Holmes!"

Watson called to the waiter for a brandy, which His Lordship drank in a single draught when it arrived. His hand was trembling.

"I arrived back home late afternoon, and made the arrangements as you instructed."

"Good, that was as well."

He paused to catch his breath and assemble his thoughts. "Yes, but later, as the household was settled down for the night, I am convinced I saw two figures on the front drive. I'm always the last to bed, have been for years, since my service days, and it has been my habit to go round the doors and windows last thing before retiring, just to check all is secure – not that there is any need, so far are we out of the way, but I like to know all is locked. So this must have been, perhaps, two o'clock this morning, and I am checking the front door when I see them. Sneaking towards the house. So I get my gun and quickly unlock the door, but they must have seen or heard me, for as I started to make my way towards them they turned tail and ran. I didn't bother trying a shot, my eyesight isn't what it once was. One was carrying a small package and dropped it as they ran off. There was no way I could have caught them, Mr Holmes, no way."

"Did you get any idea who they might have been?" asked Holmes. "Have you seen similar folk around the area previously?"

"No, not personally, Mr Holmes," he replied, "although of course my first thought turns to the reports of the two men my son was seen with the day before he disappeared."

"Hmm," mused Holmes. "Pray, continue."

"I reached the point on the road where I had seen them drop the object, and found a large stone, with a paper note tied to it. Doubtless they were going to throw it through a window. I have it here. Mr Holmes, I now fear even more for my son. Please, help us... help me..."

His voice tailed off as he handed over a folded and dirty piece of paper. Holmes handed it to Watson, who opened it and read aloud:

**We have him.**

**His life for the notebook.**

**24 hours.**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson of course belong to ACD, other characters are my own.

**Chapter 3**

Holmes took the paper from Watson and looked at it carefully.

"Do you recognise the handwriting?"

"No," replied Lord Falconer. "Is that important?"

"In cases like this is is not unknown for the perpetrators to be known to the family. Greed or jealousy drives them to think that their financial needs can be met by kidnapping a family member. The case of Jeffreys last year, for example."

"No, I am sorry, but I do know know the handwriting."

"Very well." Holmes put the paper to his nose. "Hmmm. Roses. Does that signify anything, your Lordship?"

"What, you mean the paper smelling of roses? No, Mr Holmes, I do not, and I fail to see how this could help my son."

"On the contrary, it gives us an important piece of information. It means that, in all likelihood, there is a woman involved at some point in these events." He thought for a moment, seemingly contemplating the water running in the stream past the Hotel garden. "No, we will learn no more here. Your Lordship, if you would give us a few minutes, then Watson and I will meet you at the carriage."

"Very well, Mr Holmes," he replied. "But please, if the twenty-four hours are rigidly observed, then already seven have been lost to us."

Holmes and Watson were good to their word, and within a few minutes the carriage was leaving Bodmin and journeying out onto the open moor. Lord Falconer was quiet, lost in his thoughts, and Holmes as well passed the time in observing the moorland country, wild and inhospitable, with few signs of human habitation off the gravel road.

The road wound up and down across the heathland, until the bushes bent with wind and rain gave up and the moor opened before them and on either side. A thousand feet above sea level, the scene was punctuated by scattered rocks and boulders, occasionally drawn together into the famous 'tors' which crowned each peak. The call of the wild birds sounded eerie and plaintive as the carriage made its way onward, an object unfamiliar in the wild landscape.

After an hour they noticed the gorse was returning and the land falling. Between hills they could catch glimpses of deep blue as they drew nearer the sea, until, suddenly it seemed, they started to descend quite rapidly. Before long they had passed through a first village, and a further twenty minutes of steady downhill progress brought them towards the gates of Trethewan Court. Lord Falconer broke his silence at last.

"Well, Mr Holmes, here we are, and as ever, glad I am to be here. You will find everything as you requested in your telegraph yesterday, nothing has been moved, and ... what the heavens!?"

This last outburst was directed at the scene which greeted them as the carriage turned into the long drive up to the house. Perhaps twenty people were waiting at the gate, and walking up and down the driveway. Falconer ordered the carriage to stop, and leapt out.

"What is the meaning of this! Who are you?"

The nearest person, a young man of perhaps twenty years of age, shabbily dressed and with a flat cap perched atop his apparently balding head, ran up to him.

"Your Lordship, begging your pardon Sir, I'm Holman, _Wadebridge Chronicle_. Sir, now that word is out about the disappearance of your son, and him knowing about King Arthur's tomb, do you have anything to say? Any leads? Any news?"

Falconer looked to Holmes in despair, then back to the knot of reporters who had quickly gathered around him.

"No ... nothing yet. But I have engaged England's finest. Gentlemen ..." He turned to Holmes... "may I introduce you to Mr Sherlock Holmes. He is going to find my son, be sure of that."

The uproar of questioning that followed as the reporters rounded on Holmes brought a smile to Watson, but Holmes was not pleased at all.

"I have nothing to say now!" he barked angrily. "I have only just arrived. But you can help me. How did you know about Arthur's tomb?"

Holman smiled ingratiatingly. "You know I can't reveal my sources, Mr Holmes..."

Holmes reached forward in a lightning quick motion and grabbed him by the collar. "Your source, please," he said quietly, "or else I might need to introduce you to the Japanese art of baritsu. I am told it can be most unpleasant for the student encountering a master for the first time. Do I hear your source, sir?"

"Bless you, sir, I meant no harm," replied Holman, shaken. "Can we have this conversation quietly, though? The others ... you know, they might not think I'm a safe bet any more if they knew I told you."

Holmes nodded and the two walked round to the other side of the carriage. "Well?" asked Holmes impatiently.

"It's like this, sir. I was in the _Rose and Crown_ last evening, minding my own business as you do, following up this story about the wreck down in the bay, and keeping a line open on the boy's disappearance. When in comes this bloke, all wrapped up in a cloak, even on a warm night like it was. Anyway he gets to the bar, gets his drink, and looks around for a seat. Well there's one next to me, and he goes and sits in it, doesn't he?"

Holmes sighed. "And...?" Watson couldn't help but smile.

"So I says to him, passing the time of day, what is he doing in the area? I've not seen him before, see? And he says ...." He looked around to ensure none of the others were nearby, but they were still talking to Falconer. His voice dropped to a whisper. "So he says, about the boy, that he'd heard these two bandits – his words – talking about the boy and this tomb thing, and did I know where the tomb was, and all. Well, it's the first I've heard of it, I says to him, and he says to me, well, you know, just think if the tomb is found, all the legends would be true wouldn't they? All the talk about the king coming back to save England, and be the great leader, and all."

Holmes' patience was clearly running out. "And I suppose you believe all this rubbish as well, do you?"

Holman drew himself up to his full height – a good six inches shorter than Holmes, so not having the effect for which he had obviously hoped. "Rubbish, sir? And why would the old tales be rubbish? Just because they're a bit fanciful, doesn't mean they're not true. I mean to say .."

"No, please don't," interrupted Holmes. "What happened next?"

"Well, he just suddenly seemed to remember something, he says 'I'm late' or something of the like, and he's gone. I finished his drink for him," he finished with a smile. "So I thought, I'll go up to the Court again today and see if I can find out anything else. Any new developments from earlier this week. Only ..." He looked around at the other reporters ... "Only it seems word got out somehow."

"Can you describe this fellow?"

"Not really. No, I mean it. The light is always poor in that part of the room. He's about six foot, bearded, glasses, thick black hair. I don't think he was local, his voice was – well, strained, really, I suppose you'd say. Like he had a cold, or some throat ailment. All hoarse and breathy. Anyway, can I ask His Lordship some questions? I'm missing out here." And without taking his leave of Holmes and Watson, he darted round the other side of the carriage where the group was still firing questions at Falconer.

Holmes took hold of Watson's arm and led him a little way away from the crowd. "Ideas?"

"I have none," replied Watson. "But it does seem very convenient."

"Yes, it does, does it not?" mused Holmes. "I do not believe in coincidences, Watson. I'll wager that if we spoke to these other men we'd get much the same story – a stranger visiting them, setting this story in their heads, and then departing as quickly as he arrived."

"It is a deliberate ploy, then?"

"Undoubtedly."

"By whom? The kidnappers? But why would they want such interest?"

"Perhaps they believe, Watson, that the pressure on Lord Falconer will dispose him towards settling the matter quickly."

"I agree. It can't be good for His Lordship to be so exposed in the Press."

Falconer called them over, and with the aid of the coachman sent the reporters on their way, although a knot of them remained at the gate on the lane. The remounted the carriage and were driven up the driveway.

"Tell me, your Lordship," said Holmes, "where was the broken glass found that was reported in the paper when your son originally went missing?"

"It was found by the police when I made the report. They searched the grounds, and found it – well, actually, about here."

"Stop the carriage!" ordered Holmes, and as it drew up he sprang out. Immediately he cursed under his breath. "Look, those fools have been up here, and the whole area is trampled. Your Lordship, quickly, where did this morning's intruders drop the note?"

Falconer led them a little further up the drive, but what they found was inevitable. Holmes fell to the ground on his face and surveyed the area, but with resignation got up again and said, "There is nothing to be found. The area has been too badly disturbed. If only I had not delayed last night."

Falconer put his hand on Holmes' arm. "Don't be worrying yourself, Holmes," he said, kindly, "we weren't to know of this. And if you had come last night, and been here when the note was delivered, well my son might have been killed if the intruders had been captured."

"Always assuming there are more than the two that have been seen involved, yes, that is true," replied Holmes, but his face showed his thoughts were elsewhere.

"All in good time, Mr Holmes," continued Falconer. "Let's get to the House, I want to ask my man, Trevose, how this morning's turn of events came to pass."

They walked the last hundred yards or so to the House, set imposingly at the end of the drive. The front door was, as usual, unlocked, and turning the great iron handle His Lordship ushered them into the entrance hall. Even at this time of year a fire was blazing in the grate facing the door.

"Well, this is strange," mused Falconer. "I would expect Trevose to meet us..." He led them from the hall into the morning room, where a maid was busily arranging fresh flowers. She curtseyed as Falconer and his guests entered.

"Ella, where is Trevose?" asked the Lord.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know," she replied. He hasn't been seen today. He's not come out of his room."

"Well, don't you think someone should check where he is, or whether the man is alright?" he asked.

She curtseyed again, and almost fled the room to carry out the order. Falconer watched her go.

"Bright thing, came from the village last year. I've had to let some of the older staff go, but I still keep a good house for the two of us, and Trevose is one I wouldn't be without."

He offered them a seat and poured drinks from a small decanter on the table. After a few moments an older woman entered the room.

"My Lord."

"Dorcas. Gentlemen, let me introduce Mrs Dorcas Trevanion, my housekeeper. She has been with the family – well, Dorcas, all your life, pretty well?"

"Yes sir. Sir, I have looked into Master Trevose's room. His bed has been slept in, but he is not there now, sir, and he is not in the house."

"Was he due to go into the village?" asked Holmes.

Dorcas looked at Falconer. He smiled, and told her she could speak.

"No sir, not until tomorrow at the earliest. We had just received yesterday the supplies we needed, and there was to be no post until tomorrow, when Your Lordship usually send your letters."

"This is most unlike him," said Falconer. "I must say that in all my years I have never known him to go off without telling anyone what he was about or where he was going, or when he would return."

"Describe him, please," interrupted Holmes.

"Mr Holmes, the man is seventy years old, stooped so low that he has difficulty looking ahead, and with hair so white that Benjamin used to think he was Father Christmas!" laughed Falconer. "I don't think he could be implicated in any way, do you?"

"I reserve what I think until I have all the facts," replied Holmes, a little coldly.

"Then we must find him," said Falconer. "Dorcas, raise the stable staff, they can spend a useful day trying to find out where he has got to. It can't be too difficult. The man has no family other than us, his adopted family, whom he has served faithfully for the whole of his life." These last words were stated unnecessarily clearly, Watson thought.

"In the meantime, Your Lordship," continued Holmes, "we now have fifteen hours to find Benjamin. I think we need to see the notebook again, if you please."

"Of course, yes, I'm sorry Mr Holmes," Falconer replied, and crossed the room to a large writing desk. He pulled a small key from his pocket, and undid the lock to allow the front of the desk to slide open.

A mass of papers fell onto the floor, along with an ink bottle and pens. Falconer gasped, and grabbed hold of others that were about to fall out as well. He looked with horror and the mess before him. With a look of despair he turned to Holmes and Watson.

"It .... it's gone .....!"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: as usual, Holmes and Watson are ACD's creation, other characters are figments of my imagination.

**Chapter 4**

Lord Falconer sat quietly, with the head bowed in his hands. Watson had done as best as he could in calming him, but the truth was there for all to see; Benjamin Falconer's diary was missing, and with it all hope of meeting the kidnappers' demands seemed lost. Holmes alone appeared to be unperturbed.

"Come, Lord Falconer!" he exclaimed. "We need to be methodical."

"Methodical!" Falconer's voice trembled in disbelief, and not for the first time. "Mr Holmes, I take it you have no children ..."

Holmes waved away his concerns. "That has nothing to do with our current problem, which is becoming more interesting by the minute."

"To you, yes, but I'm the lad's parent! Do you not see the seriousness of the situation?" He looked at the clock. "It is now almost noon. In fourteen hours, assuming those who hold him are true to their word, my only son will be no more."

"I do not think that is likely, your Lordship." Holmes' voice was still calm, even, measured.

"I wish I had your confidence."

"You yourself came to us in London yesterday, to engage me to find your son. Is that not correct?"

"Of course it is. You know it is."

Holmes raised his voice slightly. "Then please let me get on with doing what you have asked me to do! And to do that, your Lordship will need to be in a fit state to render whatever assistance I need."

Falconer met Holmes' piercing grey eyes for a moment, and then made a great effort to pull himself together as instructed. "Very well, Mr Holmes, you are absolutely correct. I am of no use to you in a state of despair. So.... obviously Trevose has taken the notebook, would you not agree? So we need to find him, and quickly."

Holmes walked to the large window at the east end of the room, and looked out across the landscape of steep hills and fertile fields. "Where would you consider a good place to start? You know him. What were his habits?"

Falconer thought for a moment. "Well, to be quite frank, this house was his world. That is what is so surprising. He has no close living family – other than a nephew in Cambridge I think – and he wasn't especially friendly with any of the local families. At his age I believe he looked upon us as his family, this as his home, and rarely felt the need to leave other than on direct errands, such as the four trips a week into Tintagel for supplies and post."

Holmes sighed. "Then we must start close by. Your neighbours – the Needhams – is that their house?" He was pointing to a large house on the hillside facing them.

"Yes, Mr Holmes, a ten minute walk or so across the valley. Shall I ask one of the men to go ahead?"

"No, I think Watson and I will take a stroll across to them now, alone if you don't mind. I want to get – how can I put this without offending you? - an honest appraisal of your son's relationship with the Squire's son and daughter."

"No offence at all, Mr Holmes. What can I be doing in the meantime?"

"I suggest a call into the village, your Lordship. It may be, even now, that Trevose is on his way back having surprised us all by taking a walk there. After all, it is only to be expected that he is as upset about your son's disappearance as you are."

* * *

The walk to Otford Hall passed pleasantly enough. Holmes was not especially communicative, which Watson rightly interpreted as his being deep in thought. After the expected ten minutes, a gate on the lane opened onto a narrow drive between neatly trimmed hedges, which curved to the right so as to hide the house from view from the road.

Reaching the house, Watson reached to pull the bell chain, when a loud barking was heard and around the corner of the house and to their left, ran a large mastiff. The dog was almost upon them when they heard a whistle and it stopped in its tracks. A woman's voice rang out from a window above them, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"We have come from Trethewan Court on a mission of importance!" replied Holmes. Moments later footsteps were heard coming to the door which opened to reveal a young woman in her mid twenties. She looked past them as if expecting to see a third person.

"You have found him?"

"Benjamin Falconer?" said Holmes. "No, I am afraid not. But it is indeed about that young man that we have come. You may have heard of me. I am Sherlock Holmes ...." He paused for a moment and was pleased to see that the mention of his name had the desired effect; ".. and this is my companion Doctor John Watson. May we come in?"

Without waiting for an answer he swept past her into the hallway, Watson following and making apologies at her. Holmes meanwhile turned to her.

"You are Miss Needham?"

"Elizabeth, yes. Do you wish to see my brother, he is around the grounds somewhere. I am sorry that our father is not here to see you."

"No, for the moment I wish to speak with you, Miss Needham. I need you to tell me whether the reports I have received are accurate." With that he proceeded to outline all the details that Lord Falconer had told us. Elizabeth nodded regularly.

"So that is accurate? You are sure?"

"Yes, it is as you say and have been told."

"This next question, then, is going to appear most impertinent, but please do me the honour of answering it honestly. Was there a troth between you and Benjamin Falconer?"

She looked shocked. "Oh, no, Mr Holmes, it was never like that. No, both Ashley and I were just happy to have someone of our own age around about."

"You had no – designs?"

"Mr Holmes, I know from your reputation that you have to ask these questions but please be assured that there was nothing between myself and Benjamin, just friendship."

"Do you think he knew that?"

"I told him that."

"Ah! Why did you need to do that unless he did indeed see you as other than a friend?"

"Because he told me he loved another and that he didn't want to break my heart. To which I told him that I did not feel about him in that manner in any event, so he could love another as he wished. It would not harm our friendship."

"When did this happen?"

"The night before he disappeared."

Holmes was clearly getting the information he wanted. "Do you know who the other lady was?"

"No, I do not, and I did not ask."

"Hmmm. Very well, I wonder, could you summon your brother, please?"

Whilst she was gone, Holmes quickly spoke to Watson. "So, there is another woman in the case, Watson! That was not entirely unexpected."

"How so? We know he has been kidnapped. I thought you were going to tell me – again - that he had eloped. I was just getting ready to tell you that you'd already done that one, yesterday back in Baker Street."

Holmes laughed ruefully. "No, but I have information that may help us. You recall yesterday, whilst you were out getting tickets for our journey, that I made some checks with Scotland Yard?"

"Of course."

"One of the items I asked our friends to catalogue was a list of the names of recently released prisoners. It is a routine starting point – find out if the crime fits a pattern which may be explained by such a release and return to practice."

"And..?"

"There were a few names of note, Watson. One sprang to my notice immediately. Nancy Monroe. The case last year involved the kidnapping of a child for the ransom of the family jewellery. I had a small part in apprehending her. She was released from Holloway Prison two weeks ago having served the rather menial sentence passed down on her."

"The timing is right, Holmes."

"Yes, indeed. It gives another strand to think about. Hush, here is the brother. Not a word of my proposal, now, Watson."

A young man, in his early twenties and clean shaven, had entered the hall, and invited them into the drawing room. He stubbed out the cigar he had been smoking in an ash tray, and extended his hand to Holmes and then Watson.

"Gentlemen, Ashley Needham. How can I help you?"

"Mr Needham, when was the last time you saw Benjamin Falconer? And in what situation did you leave him?"

"On the day of his disappearance, Mr Holmes. He had been down to the Castle earlier, and he called here for me and my sister at about two o'clock. He was in a state of excitement and wanted to show us something, what it was he would not elaborate. My sister was not here so I went with him. However, about half way on our journey he said he had forgotten something at his house, and would join me at the Castle shortly. I waited for over an hour but he did not return. I made my way back up to Trethewan Court to find no sign of him."

"So you must have been amongst the last people to see him before his disappearance?"

"I suspect so, yes."

"And you have any idea what it was that he went back for?"

"I noticed that he did not have his usual notebook with him. But he had already been to the Castle without it, so I doubt whether he would have made a special journey for it at the point when he did. He would have fetched it on his way to see me, surely."

Holmes pondered this information. "Perhaps, yes, but equally he may have deliberately not taken it earlier, and wanted you with him when he had it later in the day."

"Meaning..?"

"Did you see two strangers in the area around the time he went missing?"

"No, I did not. When I read the reports in the newspaper I thought it strange that I had seen no sign of such men."

"It seems to be the generally accepted proposal that Benjamin has been kidnapped, yes?"

Ashley Needham grew pale. "Yes. I hate to think what he is going through. And his father of course. I do trust that this can be resolved – that is why you are here of course? Your fame goes before you."

"Yes, that is why we are here. To see justice is done and the life of a young man spared."

The clock in the hallway struck one o'clock. Holmes looked to Watson. "It is time to go, Mr Needham. Thank you for your assistance. Please send my regards to your father."

"Most certainly, Mr Holmes. You are most welcome. Let me see you out. I'll call my sister, and we will see you as far as the river. Thus far will be on our route into the village, and we were intending on going there anyway, so we can walk together."

A few minutes later saw the four of them walking back down the lane, and down the hill towards where the road crossed the small brook on a single brick arch. The dog was running excitedly in front of them. As they crossed, a kingfisher darted past them, and Elizabeth gazed as it dipped across the quickly flowing water. Then she gasped. "Look! There!" She pointed upstream a little way. Under a large willow which hung over the water, a large bag or sack was caught in its roots as they broke through the bank in their search for water.

"Wait here, and hold the dog!" commanded Holmes. "Watson, with me!"

The two of them raced to the spot. Holmes waded into the shallow water to better gain access to the sack. It seemed larger than when they had first seen it, and indeed they noted it was caught in a hollow under the roots. It took a deal of hard and wet work to free it from its entrapment, and drag it onto the bank. There the two Needhams met them.

Holmes turned to Elizabeth. "I think you may not wish to see what is in here," he advised, and she moved away, returning to where the dog was tethered. Watson reached for his penknife and slit the sack open, revealing the body of an old man.

Ashley Needham fought the urge to be sick. "Trevose...."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: as usual the marvellous characters that are Holmes and Watson belong to ACD. Others are my own.

**Chapter 5**

The clock on the ornate mantlepiece struck three as Sergeant Hooper entered the room, followed by Lord Falconer. The latter looked utterly spent and stumbled slightly as he made his way to his chair.

He had had the unenviable task of identifying the body of Trevose, found trussed up in a sack in the stream at the foot of the hill leading to Otford Hall. Holmes and Watson had supervised the bringing of the body to the stable at Trethewan Court, and the local policeman had been quickly alerted by Ashley Needham. He now comforted his sister, who in turn was standing over the chair now occupied by Falconer. Holmes sat facing them, Watson standing behind.

"I need you to be strong, Lord Falconer," Holmes was saying.

"Strong? How can I be!" exclaimed Falconer. "Mr Holmes, since you have arrived I have suffered trespass and now murder! How can I be strong? I just want my boy – to know he is well."

"And so do I," replied Holmes, levelly. "But your present condition does nothing to help us get any nearer to the culprit or culprits."

"Is there anything more, Mr Holmes?" asked the policeman. He had recognised Holmes straight away, and now seemed to be somewhat in awe of him. He had done nothing without the express approval of the consulting detective.

"Just one matter," said Holmes, turning to him. "Who made the report of the quarrel between young Benjamin Falconer and the two strangers, the day before the disappearance?"

"I will have to go into the village to check, sir," replied Hooper. "I was not on duty. That would be Monday, yes?"

"Yes, thank you, that would be most helpful," said Holmes.

As Hooper left the room, they were joined by Dorcas Trevanion, the housekeeper. She had clearly been crying, and her red eyes looked imploringly at Holmes.

"Sir, is there anything at all ....?"

"No, Dorcas," replied Falconer. "No news. And no clue as to who has done this to Trevose. Whoever they are, I will happily pull the hangman's rope for them!"

"Lord Falconer!" interrupted Holmes. "I am going to go into the village with Watson shortly. Before we go, I need you to review for me the events leading up to your son's disappearance one more time."

Falconer sighed. "If you think it will help. I don't see how reviewing it all over again will help. But, very well..... my son first started his extended visits down at the castle last week, Wednesday. Up to that point he had been going down there with the Needhams, but my recollection is that from that day onwards he was alone. Those visits continued on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I was not here on Sunday but I understand from Trevose - understood from Trevose – that he went again, alone, very early, and returned very late. Monday this week I was back, and by the time I arose he had already gone. I believe that is the day he was seen in heated conversation with these two strangers that have been seen about the place. Tuesday he went out early again, and that was the day of course that he disappeared. The Needham lad called just before tea time to enquire of him, and seemed most put out that he was not here, nor had he been. But I did not think anything of it until Wednesday of course, since he had been coming back from his visits later and later. The police were very good, very quick, but .... well, you have seen how it is. It is quiet here, Mr Holmes. Then yesterday, being Thursday, I engaged you."

Holmes had closed his eyes throughout the discourse, as if weighing up various possibilities as Falconer recounted the timeline. When he had finished, he leaped from his seat.

"Very well, that is clear enough, your Lordship. I need you to stay here whilst Watson and I go into the village. I want you to have one last search for the notebook. I know the police already have, but have a good look through Trevose's quarters again for me, please. Now, is there a good hostelry in the village where we can have one of your famous 'cream teas'?"

"Yes, the _Crown_, at the far end of the village, nearest the Castle."

"Very well. Meet us there at six o'clock. I hope to have made progress by then."

"You have an idea, Mr Holmes?"

"I have four. I am certain one is the correct solution. We will know shortly after six. Good-day, your Lordship."

With that, Holmes left the room, Watson following. Once outside the house and walking down the driveway, he said, "And what do you make of that, Watson?"

"Apart from the discrepancies in the stories of Lord Falconer and that of Ashley Needham?"

Holmes smiled at Watson. "Excellent, you see, time spent in my company is having a positive effect on you! Well done."

"You don't have to be quite so patronising, Holmes!" laughed Watson.

"A thousand apologies Watson," laughed Holmes in return. "Yes, indeed, there are a number of interesting factors. I believe the key to this puzzle lies with the two strangers."

"They were seen the day before the disappearance talking to young Falconer. And two men matching the description were seen on the drive at Trethewan Court and were almost caught in the act of delivering a ransom message. Yes I think that is a safe assumption, Holmes!"

"Hmm, we shall see. I do not think anything can be described as a 'safe assumption' here, Watson! Where are they now?"

"Hiding somewhere?"

"Yes, but where? Their mention in the nationwide newspaper report yesterday morning will mean that they cannot merely be staying in some boarding house. This is a small community, Watson, people notice incomers. It troubles me somewhat that they seem to be able to come and go with the ability of the zephyr."

"Meaning? For all your platitudes, Holmes, you are now speaking with more obscurity again!"

Holmes smiled a knowing smile. "Then I will keep my powder dry, Watson, in that respect. But they are the key, believe me."

After a good fifteen minutes they found themselves in the village. The folk seemed warm, but many faces were turned to them as they walked down the narrow street, making their way downhill to the northern end of the village.

"You see, Watson?" said Holmes. "No-one would be able to hide here. Everything is noticed. Nothing is missed."

"Except Benjamin Falconer, it would seem."

"Which rather suggests he is still here, does it not?"

This brought Watson up short. "What, in the village?"

"Somewhere close by, yes, I imagine," replied Holmes.

"So how do we ascertain the fact of this?"

"By having a delightful cream tea at the _Crown_ – which is here, I think," Holmes replied as they came to the door of the last building in the village.

Entering the darkened rooms of the inn, they made their way to a seat near to the fire, still burning despite the mild weather. Two older ladies on an adjacent table smiled in greeting; a rather rough looking farm labourer stood leaning on the bar, talking to the innkeeper. Otherwise the place was empty.

Holmes returned the ladies' smile, and asked, "Good afternoon, I wonder whether you could help me? I'm a visitor here."

"We know," said one. "Visitor here," said the other.

"Have there been any other visitors recently?"

"Any other visitors?" said the first. "Where are there other visitors?" asked the second. The first turned to her companion. "No, the man was asking if we had seen any visitors. You know. New people."

"A few people? Why a few people?"

The first old lady smiled apologetically at Holmes and Watson. "Please forgive my sister. She is a little hard of hearing."

"What?" asked the other.

"Don't mind, dear," she continued. "Now let me think. Well there were a few of those awful newspaper chappies since Wednesday. There's one always prying around. I can't stand it myself. I can't abide gossip. Anyone will tell you that I can't abide gossip..."

Holmes' smile was wearing thin. Watson was doing his best not to laugh.

"I was only saying to Delores the other day, I was saying that if you want gossip then you need to speak to Alice. She'll give you all the gossip you want..."

"Ladies!" interrupted Holmes, "Please! Time is of the essence. Any visitors?"

"Other than that, no." The ladies turned away from the two gentlemen, muttering about how rude the world was becoming.

"There, Watson!" said Holmes. "The first step has been taken."

"I don't follow, I'm afraid, old man."

"If anyone would have noticed two strangers about the place, it would have been them! What luck, finding them straight away! Every rural community has at least one! We got two! A bonus!"

The innkeeper came over to them and they duly ordered a cream tea each. Whilst so doing, Holmes again enquired regarding any strangers or visitors and got the same reply as from the two ladies, albeit more directly. Holmes seemed content to let the matter rest, and it was gone five o'clock when, duly fortified, they left the _Crown_.

"Say what you like about rural life, Holmes," muttered Watson, "They certainly know how to feed you!"

Next to the Crown was the Post Office. So small that only one person could enter at a time, Holmes went in and spent a few minutes talking to the postmaster, seemingly to his satisfaction. Adjacent to the Post Office was the police house, the next port of call. Holmes knocked at the door and Sergeant Hooper answered.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, I was going to send word to you, but since you're here. The report of two gentlemen seen arguing with Master Benjamin was actually made on Wednesday morning to my colleague, PC Porthilly, by a lady. A fairly young lady, he says. He notices these sorts of things, if you understand me. She was out walking on the cliff above the Castle on Monday and saw the two gentlemen in question speaking most animatedly with a third gentleman whom she recognised from the description issued of Mr Benjamin as being of that person himself. She came here to volunteer this information on the basis that it might be of use in light of the news of the disappearance and the searching that was going on."

Holmes was smiling ever wider as he listened. "Where was searched?"

"All around and about, sir," came the reply. "There are some parts too dangerous to go direct – the old Smugglers Cove for example, being the beach below the Castle ruins; but you can see down there from the cliff top, there was no-one there. Spent all morning, we did."

"Thanks you, Hooper, that has been most illuminating!" exclaimed Holmes. "I am indebted to you. Now if you can show me the way to the Castle, I think we can start to draw this affair to a conclusion."

Hooper left them at the end of the lane leading to the Castle ruins. Holmes was beaming. "Two pieces of the jigsaw now in place, Watson!" he said.

It was now approaching six o'clock and as they waited, Lord Falconer's four-wheeler came into view, and he duly joined them. He sent the footman away with the carriage; "We'll walk back, it looks a fine night."

He turned to Holmes. "Well, how have matters progressed, Mr Holmes? Nothing at the house, I fear. But has my confidence in you paid off, please?"

"Most certainly!" replied Holmes, visibly enjoying the honour in which he was clearly held. "I believe I know where your son is being held. And I am sure we will be able to get him back, alive and hopefully unharmed. Watson – your weapon?"

"Ready, Holmes," said Watson grimly, patting his service revolver concealed in his waistcoat pocket.

"Then onward," said Holmes.

"Where to?" asked Falconer.

"It is obvious. The Castle ruins. The legendary Tintagel Castle – one of the reputed sites of lost Camelot."

"Mr Holmes, surely you don't believe...."

Holmes met his gaze levelly. "King Arthur? Oh yes. We will find the tomb there."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: you know the score by now. Everyone other than Holmes and Watson are mine. Holmes and Watson, however, are a league ahead of any creation I can come up with, and belong to ACD.

NOTE: geography and history has been tweaked a bit for the purposes of the story. As you would expect.

**Chapter 6**

The air was full of expectation as they walked down the long track towards the Castle. It was a good half mile between the _Crown_, the last building in the village, and the ruins, but the well-trodden gravel path lay clear before them as it made its way down a valley towards the sea. Holmes led the small party, Watson keeping up and Falconer bringing up the rear, carrying a small bag he had brought with him in the carriage.

A stream bubbled and burbled energetically to their left, hidden in the undergrowth as they descended on the way, whilst on the far side of the stream the gorse covered hillside rose higher above them with every step. The crying of the seagulls was getting louder as they turned a slow right handed corner and saw the deep blue of the early evening sea before them, framed in the cleft of the valley as it made its way towards the shore.

After ten minutes' walking the path at last reached its destination, or at least as close as it was going to get. In one last short but steep descent it drew right up to the edge of a line of cliffs overlooking a narrow bay with the sea still a hundred feet below them. There on the cliff top a wide patch of ground had been trampled by many feet, and Falconer quickly explained that this was a popular place for locals (and any visitors) alike to spend a pleasant afternoon admiring the view. A wooden fence ran the length of the cliff edge to keep those viewing the wonderful sight from getting too close to harm.

However, at that moment both Holmes and Watson were looking in awe at another sight which met their gaze. To their left a narrow path had left the main path, and leapt across the narrow stream to zig-zag up the opposite hillside. Half way up – perhaps a hundred feet above where they were now standing – the path levelled off, rounded the sheer headland and approached the edge of a precipice. A narrow neck of land – almost a knife edge – joined the mainland to an outlying hill – all but an island - upon which were visible the ruins of a once mighty castle. Sheep grazed on the short grass, but there was no sign of any human presence.

"Great heavens, Holmes!" exclaimed Watson. "What a place! I have never seen a castle so well situated for defence. It would be impregnable!"

Holmes meanwhile was carefully tracing the route of the path to the castle with wide eyes, a look of trepidation on his face. Watson looked to him with concern.

"Holmes..?"

Holmes pulled his eyes away from the sight. A slight sheen of perspiration was on his brow. "Watson, we must proceed. I'm sorry, I am only human! Forgive me, I have a ... slight fear of heights ... but the work must be done!"

Falconer was about to say something when there was a shout from behind them. Turning they saw the Postmaster running down the path towards them. They waited as he joined them, and caught his breath.

"Mr Holmes, sir, this just arrived for you from Bristol. I think it's a reply to the telegram you sent when we spoke this afternoon."

"Thank you," replied Holmes, and paid the charge. He moved a step away from them and opened the envelope. What he read was obviously what he was expecting, since he smiled and folded the paper, and put it into his breast pocket.

"Most satisfactory, Watson! Most enlightening." He dismissed the Postmaster and watched as he started to walk back up the path. After a few moments the latter turned to look back at them; then continued up the slope and out of their sight.

"So, Mr Holmes...?" asked Falconer.

"Ah, the telegram," replied Holmes almost absent mindedly. "It carries some information which will hopefully enable me to bring this case to a swift resolution. As I mentioned earlier, I have a number of ideas about what has become of your son. I think I now know that answer."

"This is marvellous," Falconer replied. "You know where he is?"

"I have suspected for a little while. I am unaware of the exact location, of course, but if I am not mistaken that will become obvious." He looked up at the castle. "So, we have to continue our journey. Gentlemen, if you will ..."

With that he started walking along the narrow path towards bridge. However after a few dozen yards, and before reaching the bridge, he stopped and surveyed closely the ground. He seemed to almost immediately find what he was looking for, and called Watson to him. "What do you see?"

A very indistinct path left the narrow path and headed downhill through the high undergrowth towards the cliff top. Watson whistled. "Where you expecting ...?"

Holmes smiled. "Of course. Gentlemen, our way lies not up, but down."

"Down?"asked Falconer. "Surely, you don't mean ..." He looked towards the cliff edge nervously.

"I fear so, your Lordship," replied Holmes. "Please?" and without further ado he pushed his way through the dense gorse and heather that clothed the ground. The path was very faint, but along its route the vegetation seemed to part to allow them through, although it rose above their heads in many places.

"If you hadn't been looking for this path, you would never have spotted it," mused Watson.

"I imagine its origin is as an old smuggler's track," replied Holmes. "It has not been used in many years – until recently – look." He showed them a broken branch a few feet ahead of them. "Someone has been this way recently."

"Benjamin?" asked Falconer.

"I believe so," said Holmes. "I think he found something in the old records, and has finally, in the last week, discovered what he was looking for. He has made repeated and regular visits – always arriving under the cover of darkness, and likewise leaving. He has kept it secret from others. Except that this sort of secret has a way of getting out."

"What has he kept secret? The tomb of King Arthur?" asked Watson.

Holmes smiled. "Yes, the tomb of King Arthur, if that's what you want to think of it as," he replied cryptically.

With that, they reached the end of the path. No fence here was present, the dense undergrowth preventing access, and so they came to the cliff top somewhat abruptly. The line of the path was just discernible as it now turned sharply to the right and started making its way down the cliff in a series of tight bends, running from one side of the narrow valley to the other. At no point was the path more than a few inches wide, and they moved slowly with one shoulder rubbing on the sheer wall whilst to the other side the waves crashed onto the rocks beneath them. On more than one occasion loose stones showered them on their descent, and more than once a foothold was lost and a companion's arm had to reach out to prevent a fall. The bag Falconer was carrying was dropped - "No matter," said Holmes, breathing heavily and with a break in his voice, "better the bag than one of us. We will collect it at the bottom."

After what seemed an age, but in reality was only perhaps fifteen minutes, they reached the foot of the cliff. They stepped with relief onto a steep, narrow shingle beach. Holmes stood for a moment, catching his breath. The whole area was now in the shadow of the hill upon which the castle stood, towering over them on the south side of the bay. Watson saw it first, and gasped at what he saw before them – the narrow entrance of a cave, partially obscured by fallen rocks from the cliff above so that the entrance was only large enough for one of them at a time. It would be impossible to see it from the cliff above, and even if viewed from the castle the entrance was hidden by the rocks.

"In there, Holmes?" he asked of Holmes.

"I think we shall find in there all the answers," replied Holmes. "But care is needed. It is now a little before seven. We only have two hours of light – if you can call it that in this gloom – and the tide will rise quickly. It is low now but this whole area is covered at high tide. We have perhaps less than two hours to get to the bottom of this conundrum."

"No matter, Mr Holmes. We are close, I can almost feel Benjamin here," said Falconer eagerly.

With that they started their way over the loose rocks. But even as they approached the cave entrance, Falconer lost his footing and slipped to the ground. He rose but with difficulty, and sat again, holding his ankle.

"I think it's a sprain," he said, ruefully. Watson made to go to him, but he waved him off. "I'll be alright. Time is against us. Keep going. Find him." He stood and hobbled slowly after them.

They reached the bag where it had fallen, and Holmes opened it. Inside they found torches and kindling. Watson looked quizzically at Holmes.

"I thought it might come to this," explained Holmes. "It is best to be prepared. It was either this or an excursion on the hillside. Which I would have preferred! However, the telegram supported this eventuality."

Watson realised what Holmes meant. "You knew we would find Benjamin either below the castle, or somewhere in the castle."

"Yes, and my money was always on the lower solution, if I may express it like that," replied Holmes. "I thought it might come to this. So, now, gentlemen, into the dark. What we seek will be in here, but we have little time. See, the tide is already higher than it was when we started our descent."

They looked back and saw this was indeed the case; the flat sandy beach, which had appeared so wide when they had looked down from the top of the cliff, was now only some fifty feet wide, and almost every wave brought the sea closer to them.

One by one they scrambled over the last few rocks and into the entrance of the cave. Once they were inside, the floor of the cave was flat and sandy, and clear of obstructions since the fallen rocks had not rolled into the cave very far. In turn they lit their torches and held them up to get a view of the cave. Collectively they let out a gasp of surprise.

The cave was enormous; perhaps fifty feet high, and as long and wide as they could see in the small light of their torches – the weak light did not reach the walls. Stalagmites and stalactites formed columns down one side of their view, and sand covered the level floor. But their attention was drawn to the centre of the cave. There, arranged in four neat rows, were four lines of upright pillars, perhaps fifteen feet high and slightly curved inwards from the base, so that the tops were closer together than the bases. The shape brought something vaguely to Watson's mind, but in the gloom he could not be sure. However, around and about the pillars, the sand glinted here and there in the light of their torches.

In the centre of the rows of pillars was a flat topped, box-like structure. Perhaps three feet high, and the same wide and deep, it was surrounded and covered by seaweed. But as they drew closer there were signs of recent activity. On the side facing the cave entrance, the seaweed had been cut away to reveal the timber underneath. Falconer gasped, "It looks like a tomb..."

"But a very small tomb nonetheless, wouldn't you say?" replied Holmes. "I think there has been a misunderstanding. This ..." and as he said the words, he waved his hands to indicate the cave around them, ".... is the tomb of King Arthur."

"This cave...?" started Watson, but was interrupted by a new voice.

"Very well done," echoed the voice from above them. Looking up, they saw a ledge which formed almost a natural gallery, overlooking the cave below. The figure was carrying a torch, but as this was lowered, Watson gave out a cry of amazement as recognition dawned.

"But that's impossible...You're ... you're dead!"

A cruel laugh filled the cave with noise. "Of course I am, Doctor. Mr Holmes, welcome. Dead, yes. That's what you'd like, isn't it? That's what you planned, wasn't it?"

Holmes seemed unsurprised by this development. "It was not planned. You brought it on yourself. You know I had nothing to do with it."

"Nothing!?" shrieked the voice, which Watson now recognised as a woman's. "I saw you. You gave the signal. The signal to kill me."

"But I gave you a choice. My words were, if I recall, along the lines that you always have a choice, and that even at the point we had reached you didn't have to go through with your plan. I even asked you to consider the lives you would save. I was," he continued, "thinking of your own amongst those others you were threatening."

There was silence for a moment. Then the woman replied, "Yes, you did ... that is true. But you had brought the police with you. You planned to kill me all along. You didn't like to think you had been outwitted."

"I beg to differ," replied Holmes, calmly. "I took no enjoyment from what happened. But you know I could not let you carry out your plan." He drew himself to his full height. "Miss Mary Wilcox, where is Benjamin Falconer?"

She looked coldly down on them from the high ledge. Then - "Falconer!"

They turned around, expecting to see the young man. Instead there was silence, unless it was the sound of the sea drawing ever closer to the cave entrance. Then slowly, Lord Falconer reached into his overcoat, and pulled out a gun.

"No!" shouted Holmes, "don't do it! We need her."

Mary Wilcox laughed. "Oh, Mr Holmes, I am so disappointed in you. It's just like eighteen months ago, when you were on the deck of the _Olive_ in Portsmouth Harbour, looking down the barrel of Master Newman's gun as I was about to sink the _Dreadnought_! The bullet is not for me. It is for you!"

With horror Watson saw the gun turned towards him and Holmes. Falconer's face broke into a smile. "My lady..." he said. "I have done my part. My son ... he is safe, as you said?"

Miss Wilcox smiled coldly. "Yes, he is safe. But first, Falconer, please do your job."

"With pleasure, Miss Wilcox," he replied with a smile.

Two shots rang out in the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson belong to ACD. Other characters, rather worryingly, are my own.

Yes, she's back, my femme fatale from 'The Olive Affair'. And is she angry, or what?

**Chapter 7**

Darkness.

Pain.

Watson opened his eyes, disoriented as though waking from a deep sleep. For a moment he was completely unable to account for where he was. Then the pain finally overcame him, and he cried out in shock. This in turn woke Holmes who likewise groaned loudly.

Watson opened his eyes. He was still in the cave, and many torches were burning to light the mighty cavern. He realised he was standing, but when he tried to move found he was tightly bound to one of the pillars arranged on the floor of the cave. He looked in the direction of Holmes' groan, and saw him likewise bound to the adjacent pillar. Their eyes met. Holmes winced, and gasped, "Are you alright, old man?"

Watson, likewise, was finding it hard to speak. He guessed from what he could see of Holmes, that he was bound in the same way, with thin wire. He nodded in affirmation, the pain in his chest causing him to almost retch. His eyes swam.

Mary Wilcox was still standing on the ledge above them. They were tied so that they were facing her, their backs to the cave entrance. The waves of the sea outside seemed very close. Then, to their right, Falconer's voice.

"Marvellous things, aren't they, Mr Holmes? Rubber bullets. Enough to briefly incapacitate a foe, long enough to capture him. Needham used them in India, you know, big game and all that. I did wonder whether you'd survive – first time I've used it on a man. Thought it better to do it in your chest. Bit of a risk, might have stopped your heart. Worth the risk, though," he laughed. He held up the gun. "Real bullets now, though, gentlemen. Have a care."

"So, now, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson," continued Miss Wilcox, "where were we? Ah, yes, you were, I think, about to try to talk me out of my latest scheme – as if you had any inkling of what that might have been." She moved closer to the edge of the ledge, and they saw with horror the weapon she carried.

"After the little affair in Portsmouth, I have an aversion to guns," she explained. "So much damage for so little effort. I think the crossbow is far more interesting. I grew up around here, you know. Used to go hunting out on the moor. You know; foxes, deer, the odd badger or two. Good target practice. I like to think I am quite good. Half an inch from your ear, Mr Holmes."

In one deft move she snapped the weapon to her shoulder. There was the dull sound of the bow being sprung, a _whoosh_ as the dart flew through the air, and the timber pillar next to Holmes' right ear splintered into fragments as the bolt pierced it, drawing blood from his head in the process. He cried out in shock. Watson shouted, "Holmes! For pity's sake...."

Holmes regained his composure. "I am well, Watson. Do not fret so. I was merely surprised that our host should need to prove how well she can handle this weapon."

"Oh, but nothing surprises you, does it, Mr Holmes?" replied Miss Wilcox, and the sneer in her voice was unmistakable. "Now this is how it is going to work. Listen carefully, I am in no mood to say this again. You are going to die – quickly, or slowly. The tide will fill this cave to a depth of some eleven feet today. You have a choice. Either you drown, or -" At this she lifted the crossbow, which she had now reloaded; "or you beg me to kill you quickly. It is, as you are so fond of saying, Mr Holmes, your choice. And before you start your platitudes, yes, I do have to do it, and no, you will not turn me from doing it; you cannot appeal to my better nature. I hate you, Mr Holmes. And you are going to pay."

Holmes met her gaze. "Well if it is going to come to that, let us spend our time together in a constructive fashion. I am afraid I am leagues above you, Miss Wilcox. Why don't you sit there and let me explain how we have got to this point?"

Miss Wilcox laughed heartily. "Ever the showman, eh, Mr Holmes? Always having to show how good you are? Better than the next man? What happened to you to make you thus? Now that would be an interesting tale."

"Perhaps, but not today, Miss Wilcox," Holmes replied levelly. "And you are right in one respect. I do show how good I am – because I am. Stop me if I get the tale wrong at any point, won't you?"

Miss Wilcox snorted. "Very well, Mr Holmes, have it your way. But just remember – I have beaten you today."

"Hmmm," replied Holmes. "Very well. You do seem singularly dedicated to my downfall, and I think that says more about you than my behaviour does of me, but, nonetheless, I hear the tide outside so I will start. Where to start, though?

"You have already confided that you were born here. I know that you moved to London to live with your aunt when you were ten years of age, after your parents were killed in an accident – an accident caused by, as you see it, Lord Falconer's error. Although he was away at sea, you have blamed him for their deaths since it was on his land that your parents were strolling one Sunday afternoon when the dam holding back the waters of one of his ornamental lakes collapsed. They were swept to their deaths amongst the rocks."

"It was an accident!" exclaimed Falconer. "And she knows that her parents should not have been on my land. Trespassing!"

"Silence!" screamed Miss Wilcox. "Or you will join them!" Falconer fell silent.

"As we know you fell in with a bad lot in London, and when we met eighteen months ago you were already known to the police for your criminal activities. Now, I have to use my imagination here, but – we shall see. As I said, correct me if I am wrong. After you were shot on the _Olive_, you were taken to the Military Hospital at Haslar in Gosport. You were not as badly injured as you first appeared, and when your chance came you exchanged papers with a woman in the adjacent bed who had been caught up in an accident at Priddy's Hard, the ordnance depot. She died the next day and was buried as Miss Mary Wilcox. You then made your way down here – to your home. I believe the farm is three miles distant, out on the Moor road?"

"Very good Mr Holmes. It was fortunate Ethel had been so badly injured. She couldn't talk you know. Got burned when some of the fireworks for the _Dreadnought's_ launch exploded. Quite a simple girl, my age, height, build. Lucky. I don't think she knew what I did, exchanging our papers. The Ward was so busy, no-one noticed. The records will show that Ethel Lawton discharged herself and no-one knows anything more. Although three bullet wounds are hardly insignificant, I will have you know. I still limp, and I still to this day carry a bullet in my neck. But, all being equal, yes; I was not so badly injured that I was incapacitated or incapable of rational thought."

"How...?" asked Watson.

"Do I know this?"replied Holmes, turning towards him with difficulty. "Various means. Talking to the local Postmaster is always a revelation. And my brother of course, is a mine of information not usually available to general enquirers." He turned back to face Miss Wilcox. "I think," he continued, "that for a brief time you truly meant to put your past behind you. Many people would, having had such a brush with death. But of course, coming back here brought you back to a place of memory – your parents, especially. Death. And then one day, out on the cliffs, you saw Benjamin Falconer. You recognised him immediately, of course; but I think for a brief while, your heart was warmed. His certainly was. Do you not recall, Watson, Elizabeth Needham's words – he told her on Monday evening that his heart belonged to another?"

"Yes, I remember clearly," replied Watson. Despite their desperate situation, he was enthralled at how Holmes had pieced the story together.

"But you were reclusive, were you not, Miss Wilcox? Few knew your face in the village. And then, not long ago, his studies turned up something unexpected."

"Yes, Mr Holmes. He found the treasure. He thought that it would solve all his family's financial woes – but I expect you can see how I could use that to return to a life of crime and conspiracy. To plot another catastrophe. Involving you, my nemesis."

"Treasure?" exclaimed Watson. "Isn't this all about King Arthur?"

"Yes, Watson, it is. Let me explain. The year is 1778. The war of independence between America and England is not going well. Parties loyal to England are losing ground. They need support. So, in order to buy allegiance from those who are wavering in their loyalty, a ship is loaded with bullion. Gold bars, coins, ingots. To buy their support. To turn the tide of the war. The ship sails from Bristol on her secret mission, known only to the Admiralty. But only half a day out, a massive storm hits the Bristol Channel, and the ship is lost. This much my brother Mycroft told me yesterday whilst you were buying our railway tickets." He looked around the cave. "And now we know what happened to it. Watson, we are tied to the storm-driven remains of HMS King Arthur, lost with all hands on November 23rd 1778. This cave is the tomb of that great warship. She was driven into the bay, and on into the cave, and there she remained for a hundred years – until young Benjamin Falconer, through his studies and exploration, found her."

"The glittering in the sand ..."

"Are some of the spilled gold coins from the wreck, yes. So, we need to put ourselves in Miss Wilcox's mind. You see, this is an opportunity. Untold wealth, and the chance to right some old wrongs – as she sees it. So quickly she hatches a plan. But young Benjamin has started to see something disquieting in her behaviour towards him."

"Yes, I think he guessed what I was planning," said Miss Wilcox.

"He left his notebook behind, for example, for security, and tried to take Ashley Needham into his confidence. But at the last he cannot bring himself to do it. He does not meet up as promised with Needham, but instead stays in the grounds until it is dark, thinking about what he can do, pondering over and over. Should be break off the relationship? Is it a figment of his imagination that his love is acting so strangely towards him? He does not know. He sits there in the darkening evening, drinking from the bottle he took with him for refreshment during his explorations. Until, finally deciding to make his way back into the house late in the evening, she intercepts the young man so in love with her on the drive of Trethewan Court. She makes to play the lover, and perhaps he decides all his worries were of his own imagining – until she pulls a knife on him. There is a struggle, the bottle is dropped and broken, but she injures him, and then forces him to go with her on pain of further injury."

"Hence the broken bottle and the blood that the police found," said Watson.

"Indeed. So young Benjamin is kidnapped ..."

"But the two strangers, Holmes?"

"No! Watson, please do not interrupt, it is very annoying. There never were any strangers. Who has seen them? Only Miss Wilcox herself, who made the report to the police on Wednesday, and Lord Falconer, who is part of the scheme. Unintentionally I have to add. For of course, with Benjamin kidnapped, he is now in Miss Wilcox's power. No doubt she told you how she held you responsible for her parents' deaths?"

"Oh yes, she did, in no uncertain terms," Falconer replied. "I had to play my part, or he would be harmed. The notebook was never stolen, you see." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled it out, before replacing it with a sad smile.

"So Lord Falconer has to now play along in his part of the scheme. That scheme being – and I must admit I am quite grateful of the trouble to which you have gone – to revenge herself upon me, for the perceived injury I caused her in Portsmouth. He visits us with a story how his son has been kidnapped – one that he himself has reported to the police and whipped up the interest of the local newspaper reporters – that really was an unnecessarily theatrical undertaking, to disguise yourself in the _Rose and Crown_ to spread stories of King Arthur. Quite beneath you, sir."

"It was all I could think of," replied Falconer. "I had to get the stories in the papers quickly, and to get a lot of interest from the journalists. Otherwise you would not believed me, nor would you have been tempted to take the case – which was the fundamental part of her plan, and the key to the safety of my son."

"No matter. But then things started to go wrong. Miss Wilcox pays you a visit late yesterday evening. Maybe it was a higher ransom for Benjamin, maybe something else she wanted you to do, but in any event you were overheard – by Trevose."

Falconer's voice broke. "He came in and she was there talking to me. It was so quick – she knifed him, and told me to dispose of the body. Unfortunately you found it rather too quickly, otherwise that would not have complicated the issue."

"A man has died, and you call it a complication!" exploded Holmes. He turned to Miss Wilcox. "When justice catches up with you, I sincerely trust that you will recall in your last moments that human life is sacrosanct. You cannot toy lightly with others' destiny."

"Oh, do stop preaching, Mr Holmes," she replied. "You tire me. You really should spend your last minutes on earth in a more constructive manner."

"Miss Wilcox," asked Lord Falconer, "I have heard all there is now to tell of our relations, and your using my son. You have said he is safe. Please, may I see him?"

"He is safe. I told you. Trust me."

Holmes turned his head to Falconer. "Do you really think she is so trustworthy, Falconer?" he asked. "You have heard what she is like. How she uses people to her own ends. Even your own son – just to, if I may use the unfortunate phrase, 'kill two birds with one stone'? To settle her score with me and at the same time paying you back for the death of her parents. I think she is most unreliable."

Falconer stood. "Show me my son!" he exclaimed.

"Later," replied Miss Wilcox. "Oooh, look! How exciting!"

The rocks at the cave entrance must have held back the tide slightly. The water had now reached a point where it overtopped the rocks, and it now started to pour into the cave.

"This bit is quite quick," she said calmly. "I have watched this a few times as I imagined this moment. The sea is about two feet higher outside than inside. Over the next ten minutes the water will rise quite rapidly. Then, it will creep up, minute by minute. I will watch you die, Mr Holmes."

The stream of water grew until suddenly there was a rush of water across the floor of the cave. The water swirled around the sandy floor, rising quickly.

"Falconer!" shouted Holmes. "Don't you think you ought to look at the treasure you're going to share with this .. lady?"

"No, don't!" she shouted. "Wait till the tide has gone back out."

Falconer seemed undecided as he weighed her words against those of Holmes. Then he slowly left his lofty vantage point and lowered himself down into the shallow water.

"No, not one more step, Falconer!" screamed Miss Wilcox.

He reached the chest, the water already half way up its side.

"I'm warning you!" she screamed again. "Last chance!"

He started to prise open the lid, but screamed in agony as a crossbow bolt impaled his hand to the lid of the chest. Lightning fast, Miss Wilcox reloaded the weapon.

"I will not warn you again."

In a single move he pulled his hand free and opened the lid of the box. He fell to his knees with a cry as another bolt hit him in the left shoulder, but his distress would doubtless have taken him to his knees in any event.

"My... son..." he groaned. "My Benjamin...."

"What do I care? Yes, I killed him. He cried like a stuck pig as the knife went in."

A look of absolute madness came into his eyes. He stood, fixing Miss Wilcox with a gaze that spoke of absolute and utter hatred. He pulled his gun and loosed one ... two shots at her before falling dead into the water, a third bolt through his heart.

"Enough!" she spat. One of the bullets had caught her a blow on her arm, and blood was running down the sleeve of her blouse. "I tire of this. I must say, Mr Holmes, Doctor, the sport has been very good. I don't know how you do it, but you have managed to piece it all together."

"The last telegram I sent answered the key points," replied Holmes. "It is always useful to know who the local recluses are."

The water was now waist high. Falconer's body floated past them as the current carried it into the cave. Miss Wilcox sat down on her high vantage point, gasping slightly in pain.

"Let me know which one of you wants to be shot first. I will only use one bolt. The other can drown. I can make your death quite quick. Let's have a game. I will count to ten – and then I'll put one of you out of your misery. How does that sound?"

"You evil, heartless woman!" exploded Watson.

"Oh, it is to be you, then, Doctor? Well volunteered."

She started a slow count.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson belong to ACD. Other characters are mine. Geography is not correct for the purposes of the story.

Well, here are at the end of another case for the inestimable Mr Holmes and his trusty companion and biographer. But is the end of the case the end of them as well?

**Chapter 8**

The noise of the waves started to resound around the cave as it filled with water. The deep _boom_ sound each time the waves struck the rocks outside seemed to correspond with Miss Wilcox's slow counting.

"Six."

"Miss Wilcox?" asked Holmes.

"Mr Holmes, what is it now?" she replied, clearly becoming more angry as the pain in her wounded arm grew.

"How did you get in here? There were no footprints outside."

"Holmes!" exclaimed Watson. "Do you not think that a better use of your skills would be made in working out how to save me?"

Holmes ignored him. "Miss Wilcox?"

"There is a smugglers' tunnel leading from this gallery to the surface. It comes out behind the old bothy up on the cliff. I can come and go in the dry."

"I thought as much."

"Seven."

"I do believe you have misconstrued my relationship with Watson, Miss Wilcox."

"Oh, of course I have, Mr Holmes."

"No, I mean it. Really, Watson's death would cause me no grief whatsoever." He ignored Watson's incredulous look, and continued, "You see, three years ago or so I found myself in London, alone, and needing to share the cost of accommodation. Watson was in a similar situation, surviving on the princely sum of 11/6d and he leapt at the chance of sharing rooms with me. I likewise condescended to 'put him up' as they say. No doubt he quickly saw how much he could learn from me, but all I needed was the money he brought – or rather, that part of his earnings that he did not squander on the horses. In truth I do not really know how he managed to become a doctor; but I will admit that his slowness has sometimes been useful to me, in that it has on occasion forced me to think more clearly about some proposed solution to a case. But on balance he has been a burden I will not miss."

"Holmes!" Watson exclaimed, shocked.

"Oh, do be quiet, Watson!" replied Holmes, twisting to look towards him. "If we are to die, can I at least ask that my final minutes are not spent pandering to your infuriatingly simple intellect? Miss Wilcox here, for all her scheming, is a far more intelligent person than you will ever be." He turned back to look at the woman. "So you see, there really is nothing to be gained by killing him first. I will not shed a tear. In fact, I think it would upset him more were you to dispatch me first. He seems to be more emotionally bound to me than I am to him."

"What does the good Doctor think?" she mused. "Shall I kill him first, then?"

Watson stared at Holmes in unbelief, but Holmes was looking to Miss Wilcox, not him. "I ... I don't know what to think any more," he said at last.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Well, they do say that 'truth will out', don't they Mr Holmes? And in your dire strait you have certainly cleared the air on this matter. It will be good to kill you both knowing that you know where you stand in each others' esteem. Eight."

The water was still rising in the cave. It was now approaching the level of Watson's chest, and his desperation was starting to rise. The shock he had experienced at Holmes' words had now become a prevailing sense of depression. He watched as another ripple of water spread across the cave from behind him, the broken wave adding another half inch to the depth of water around them. He felt totally deflated and exhausted.

"Just end it," he said quietly.

"Pardon? I didn't quite hear that," Miss Wilcox replied gleefully.

"Kill me now. I don't want to hear any more."

"Not so easily, Doctor. I will give you the gift of time. I said I would count to ten, and I am good to my word. Just like the great Mr Sherlock Holmes, who always tells the truth, don't you, Mr Holmes?" Her voice was raising in intensity to make herself heard over the noise of the water. Then - "Do you hate him, Doctor?"

Watson was silent for a moment. Then he replied, sadly and quietly, "No. But I no longer like him."

"Oh well, that will have to do," she replied. "Nine."

"How could you, man?" he asked of Holmes.

"I intend to go to my maker with a clear conscience," replied Holmes. "I cannot bear falsehood. We have known each other for almost three years, and yet you don't know me at all."

"I did not know you felt so loathe of me."

"You had your uses. _But things are said in the heat of the moment which on reflection should not be said,_" he continued emphatically. He faced Miss Wilcox. "Get on with it! Stop being so theatrical!"

She sighed, and raised the crossbow to her shoulder, but as she did so she grimaced with pain. "Ten." And then .... "No, I will take the one shot when I am ready and not before. Part of the fun, Mr Holmes, is seeing you helpless and bickering like two children. This has been most entertaining, not to say enlightening. I am sure the Doctor would agree."

"I am only thinking of your ability to satisfy your desire for revenge," he replied, calmly. "The tide is now getting to the fastest part of its incursion. I calculate that the water will reach Watson's face in four minutes. Watson, you see, will be dead first anyway soon. Then you can despatch me. I would much rather it be quick and easy for myself."

"Oh thank you so much," muttered Watson.

"I don't know, Mr Holmes, what irritates me most," she replied, getting to her feet. "Your arrogance, your smugness, your coldness, or just ... everything. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just you. But on this occasion.... I think I will not give you what you desire." She raised the crossbow to her shoulder and lined up a shot for Watson's chest, now right at the water level. "Any last words?"

Watson looked across at Holmes. "I thought .... you would always get us out."

Holmes sighed slightly. "After all this time you think I can work miracles? Only One can do that. Sorry to disabuse you."

It all happened very quickly. From the mouth of the cave behind them a loud voice cried over the waves: "Stop, in the name of the Queen!"

A footstep was heard in the tunnel behind Miss Wilcox; she spun round to face a soldier who had made his way down the long stair quietly. The crossbow sang and he fell at her feet. From behind them, again, there was the sound of a command, and shots were fired into the cave, aimed at the ledge upon which she stood. Gun smoke filled the cave, but she turned and loaded another bolt even as they saw pieces of rock from the stone walls around her spray their debris over her as the bullets struck. She fired the crossbow again, and a scream from behind them indicated another would-be rescuer had been hit. But there was no more time; she looked at the two men one last time, blew Holmes a kiss, and then turned and disappeared up the stair from whence the soldier had issued.

"Mr Holmes!" Someone was shouting from behind them. "Can you make your way, Sir?"

"No, we are bound!" Holmes shouted back.

"Hold on!" the voice replied, and splashes were heard as they guessed one or more persons were in the water. Then - "It's no good, we can't get through!"

Another pause. "Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson, we will be a moment." "Not too long, I trust!" shouted Holmes.

Then the voice cried, "We have a craft, but need to blow the cave entrance open. One moment more! Cover your ears if you can!"

The water was up to Watson's chin now, but he couldn't have covered his ears in any event. The percussion of the explosion was physically painful, and the cave once again filled with smoke. Rocks fell on them from the roof of the cave, and an ominous rumbling was heard.

Water splashed into Watson's face and he felt himself going under. But almost within a moment they found a dinghy rowed between them, and their wire bonds cut. Rough hands pulled them out of the water and into the boat, gasping for breath and bringing them face to face with four soldiers. Rocks were still falling around them, and one indeed fell into the flimsy vessel, holing it, and water started pouring in. "Row!" shouted the coxswain, and the soldiers leant into their oars with all the effort they could muster.

Watson looked back, now realising what had happened. The soldiers had blown the loose rocks away from the mouth of the cave, but in so doing the cave itself was now collapsing.

A great confusion of noise and dust was rising around them, but the light they now saw was the light of day as they approached the cave entrance. Another rock landed in the boat, stunning one of the soldiers. Watson leapt into his spot before the oar was lost, and pulled with the others with all his might. He looked one last time into the cave as the roof finally collapsed - just for a moment the wall of stalactites and stalagmites down one side wavered, and then fell, in its last moments revealing a glimpse of something which took his breath away.

And then it was gone. The roar of rocks overwhelmed all other senses. The entire roof of the cave collapsed, and it was fortunate they were so close to the entrance, for the wave created by the collapse mounted up and then carried the boat clear of the destruction and out into the bay, like a cork popping out of a bottle.

Quickly they made the south side of the bay and drew the boat up onto the rocks before it completely sank. They looked back across to where they had been, and saw only a mighty cloud of dust which gradually settled on the water or was blown away out to sea. When they could at last see clearly, they saw that the whole end of the bay had been elongated by a good hundred feet; the path down from the village now ended not in a viewing point but in a sheer cliff, one hundred feet straight down, with a chaotic bed of rubble at its foot, over which the incoming tide was now breaking.

"Forgive me, Watson," said Holmes.

"Holmes?"

"For what I said in the cave. I was trying to buy time. I knew they were coming."

"I had indeed hoped that was the case," Watson replied. "You were very persuasive. You had _me_ fooled, yet alone Miss Wilcox."

"I had to prolong the count until the soldiers had arrived. The lateness of their arrival was unexpected I must say – it was very close at the end."

"I suppose it is pointless me asking you how you had it all sorted out ...."

"When the Postmaster delivered the telegram, before we started our way down to the cave, I had already pre-arranged a sign with him – this was when I was in the Post Office earlier. He is a former policeman himself you know – very useful, very level headed. The telegram confirmed my suspicions on a number of points; so I gave him the signal. He immediately telegraphed the local military camp outside Boscastle – and they no doubt set off at a pace the rescue us. But, as I said, it was very close. I was as surprised to see the soldier coming down the tunnel as you were, though, old man." He grasped Watson's hand. "I really am most glad you are all right, Watson."

"Yes, Holmes, I am. Thank you."

They were shortly joined by the soldiers' commander. "Gardner at you service, Mr Holmes, Doctor," he introduced himself. "I apologise that we arrived a little later than we expected; the path down the cliff is steep and the boat was not easy to lift down by rope. But all is well, what?"

"We are most grateful," smiled Holmes. "Although you have lost two men, I see?"

"Yes, we have, and she will pay," Gardner replied. "Young Wilson, he's a local lad, and he seemed to remember an old tunnel he played in as a boy."

"Quickly, then," said Holmes. "We need to catch her. Never mind us, we are well, and will make our own way after you."

"Very well, sir," replied Gardner, saluting Holmes and then issuing orders as the soldiery made off. Watson and Holmes were left sitting on the rocks below the castle.

"Time for a climb, Watson," smiled Holmes, reaching out his hand to pull Watson to his feet.

"Holmes," said Watson, "before we start making our way up ... in the cave .... it sounds silly, I know ..."

"I did not mean a word of it, Watson, please believe me. It pained me to say it, but had I met your eye I would have been unable to keep up the pretence."

"No, I don't mean that," replied Watson with a smile, "although it is a relief to hear you say it. No, whilst I was in the boat, I was looking back into the cave, of course. As the last of it fell, I thought I saw ...."

"Yes...?" Holmes' voice was encouraging.

"As the curtain of crystal fell I thought I saw a throne. And on the throne was a figure...."

Holmes looked back at the still smoking rubble. "Well, whatever you saw, is now buried under fifty feet and untold tons of rock, Watson."

"Don't you think we should tell...?"

"Perhaps the stuff of legend is that it a mystery in and of itself," replied Holmes with a smile. "Leave it. Let it go." He took a deep breath. "But now, time for the off. And I think before making our way back to London, we should stop off at the _Crown_ for a drink, don't you?"

"Miss Wilcox?"

Holmes was silent for a moment. "I do not think they will find her. She is a recluse. She knows how to hide. She will be long gone. But who knows," he concluded airily, "we may meet her again one day. At least we will know where we stand!"

**THE END**


End file.
